Mandy Gola:

A Play of Conquest and Surrender for the Public Good in 1/4 of an Act

by Bill Barton

Actors enter the audience and chatter with seated people. Everyone is polite and friendly. They go behind the curtain and engage in opening night actor talk. All are anxious. Penelope calls for the curtain to be raised.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our humble play. The backyard players of Florence bring to you our version of a very popular play written my Maestro Machiavelli entitled Mandy Gola, a tale often told under another name which we cannot mention owing to the likelihood of arrest by the copywright police.

I like the play a lot and you will, too.

Our leading lady's gown- please take note- was designed and hand crafted by the internationally known "Ewell's of California". California has yet to be discovered but that little problem certainly hasn't affected the first line quality of the product.

And the male costumes are here courtesy of the Dempsey Dumpster Company. They are fresh.

And now for the players and their parts. The husband, Don Viejo Flattus, with several sundry affectionate names tossed in on occasion, is being played by Kurt Druhl, who has recently left a Rock and Roll gig at the Vatican.

Tambourine player---Ay Yai,Yai...

Our leading lady is Don Boris Fitzbelch who has been recently unemployed.

Never had a real job, burned bodies is what he did.

Did not!

Did! Seen you do it I did.

Can you go on, please. The audience is going to think that we will just strut about like apes in purple-and asses in lion skins.

And I, I play the romantic lead Count Viago Viagrono. I am Balthasar Bantivoglio, an accomplished performer from Milan and who frequently jobs out as an accordian player at Bar and Bas Mitzvahs. We, three, will endeavor to say whatever comes ill timed to the tip of the tongue. Take your places performers. Thank you. (He goes DR to move in as many directions as he can intimating being on a small ship in rough seas) Oh, Ma fois. The sea, she is very rough today. Could it be that La Belle France balks at my leaving? Itsa whaddyoucallit??? a really bumpy sea.

Don and Pen are watching Viago and imitating the movement. Don turns his back on the audience and vomits loudly. Viago waits for the Don to straighten up before he goes on.

 

Well, there goes France. Bye bye France. A revoir jolly Franksters. And looka over dere. That musta be Spain with all those jolly Spanish peoples standing on the beaches waving at me. Hola, yousa happy Spanish peoples. How's the plague going. And now we are turning the corner and lookee here. Itsa little Portugal. Abientot all you frolicking Potogese folk. Now looka here. Tight squeeze here. We are going through the Panama Canal.

He got it wrong again.

Did not.

Did. Look at the script. Does it say Panama?

No.

What does it say?

Erie.

Well, Erie it is.

Shouldn't it say something about Africa. I mean it's right over there underneath those palm trees. You know, camels and dates and all that.

Cue, please.

Ciaou mon Afriques. Ah mon nez y fingres. I see my homeland. It still looks the same from here. Twenty five years didn't change a hair on your head Italia mia. Listen carefully, I can hear the bells of St. Crispex of the dun cows down by the river of two weeping willows close to the whirlpool under the red roofed church by the farm of Angelo Angelini where the two headed man hides in the cave. Ding dong dink. Yeah, datsa dem. (debarks ship) I'm getting offa dis foolish shippa now. Never saw so many fools in one place. Ah Mah don. Sweeta blessed Firenza. Flower of Italia. Si. I am home again but alone. I don't recognize any faces of my fellow Firenzonians. No one here to love me. No one to care if I cutta my finger or anything. No longer have I a mama. I have no pappa. I have no esposa to accompany me on this journey through the nettles of life. I have no children, no girlfriend, and I see no merry tricksters to ease my loneliness. Some welcome home, honey, this is. (Don and wife cross stage and Viago is thunderstruck at the sight of the woman.) Mon coeur, my prayers are answered. Such a madonna. I must find out if his daughter is available for courtship. Kind sir...

Eh? Speak up please signeur in the hot pink suit who probably just got off the boat from someplace what don't know anything about current men's fashions.

Paree, kind sir. Which I love in the Springtime.

I love Paree in the summer when it sizzles.

I love Paree every moment...but I am back in the motherland now, and I have a question about this lovely young woman...

Who is my lovely young wife, Penelope. (Don reacts positively).

Yes, of course, your lovely, charming, enchanting wife, signeur.

And faithful as all the saints will attest.

You have been blessed signeur.

Come, Viejo Flattus. No time to dally. The cow's in the meadow and I am sure the sheep's in the corn.

In a moment, hush puppy. We have not been blessed with children. This is a great problem for Italia my friend in pink. There are no heirs to my fortune, or to my vast holdings in Alitalia Pasta Company. No heirs, no pasta. Can you conceive of an Italy without pasta. Take away the lemon trees, tear down the church steeples, kick the meatballs into the river but don't take away the pasta. Princedoms crumble, Riots wreckthe streets, pandemonium, anarchy, barbarians at our throats selling Chef Boyardi in the can. And all because I have no bambinos.

 

Weeps on the shoulder of Viago.

I do conceive sir (gives audience a Groucho Marx, know it all smile). Don Flattus, I believe that my coming back to my native soil has been fortuitous for the two of us. I am in possession of certain potions and incantations which come to us through China, Arabia, and only recently were discovered in a buried well that was used by the Knights Templars. Such a deal I got. With three hours of uninterrupted prayer to the saints in charge of fertility, a solemn administration of potions known in these regions only by myself, and faith in the administrator, miracles have been wrought. Can I interest you is such a procedure?

You can if you can show me results.

I am personally responsible for the wife of a two hundred year old China man having delivered seventeen children---all males. (Viejo gasps)

We must be going Viejo.

Coming in a minute, dear.

Viago turns to audience and leers, demoniacally.

 

I'm not touching that line in this or any other Machiavellian play. Deal Don?

Don deals. Darling, our new found friend, signeur Viago will accompany us as our house guest for a short time.

Ah, signeur Viago---welcome---bienvenue---ciaou---whuzup. You are welcome to our table, our necessary, our chapel, our, our, hospice. You may kiss my hand. Now-foot---heel---back...oh...you will be welcomed monsieur.

I am at your service and at the service of all Republics and all barren beauties in all lands until the saints of fertility call me to my rest and eternal reward.

Well, then, shall we skip to the castle, my little family?

All join arms and sort of skip.

Mama mia. Here we are at home again. Itsa our own liddle castlah.

Its our little piece of paradise.

Notice the rich, healthy, and very profitable vinyard to the west, operated by my nephews, David and Julio Gallo. Olives over here on the mount, Anda lush wheatafields that gives me such good pasta.

And that lovely orchard over there. What grows there?

Forbiddens

Forbiddens, I'ma no unnerstan, my Don.

Silly goose. We have Macintosh, and green granny forbiddens. They are lovely and look so delicious and sweet, but we can't eat any of them.

But why, I ask.

They notsa gooda for you soul. They make you soul sick. Besides, theresa big serpent over there who keeps calling people over to maka they soul sick. He's a big liar, too. He says the forbidden fruit is a gooda for you. Makes you smart. He'sa say, 'Com Ca'. I weel show you the world baby. Il fait beau times sugar if you will check out my stuff, here. You wanna be smart, n'est pas." I donna trust no serpent that speaks such bad French lingua.

Je comprend mon Don. We must now get on with the ritual while there is yet some daylight. The night masks the face of the gods.

Am I to be with you and praying?

Ah, Mon dieu, non, non, and non again mon friend. Too many husbands have died of broken hearts when they have heard the painful squeals of their barren wives. In the name of all that you hold sacred, do not venture into the room as I administer the secret potion, number nine.

And to whom should I pray for three hours?

Well, let us start praying and we'll see who is home today.

St. Alphonso Sapone, hear my prayers. We got a situation here....

As the unsuspecting Don prays in the corner, Viago makes passionate and athletic love to the faithful Penelope. They do cartwheels, somersaults, etc. for several minutes and finally fall asleep in exhaustion.

And of course you remember my nice uncle Hieronymos, the funny fellow from uppa north who used to paint dosz nica pictures on the wooden altars. Well, you like him, right? So, c'mon now do me a good favor and make dissa fella's remedy work. It'll make us a nice Italy. Oh, I'ma going to hear the cock crow ina minute here.

Cock-a doodle do.

Penelope gets up pregnant.

 

Pen

Oh, Mon Dieu. A miracle. I'm as big as a house.

Oh, my word, I felt certain that we should not have gone into the orchard. Now look what I've done.

Praise the saints. A few more pills and I'll have my own republic. Bless you my son.

And the moral of the story is (they sing as they walk off) Don't sit under the apple tree with any else but me, anyone else but me, anyone else but me, no,no,no, Don't sit...

First published June 10, 2002; last updated June 12, 2002

Copyright 2002, GJL